“Okay, Marlon,” the doctor said, clipping Marlon’s file onto the clipboard she was holding. “How’ve you been since our last session?”

“I’ve got no time to talk, Doc,” Marlon said, anxiously tapping the plush armrest of the leather armchair he was sitting in.

“I think I’m turning into a fish!”

“And why do you think that, Marlon?” the doctor asked, intrigued by his strange admission.

“Well, I’ve been having are harder time breathing. And I can’t see as well. But when I go swimming, both of those get better. Oh, and I’ve been getting these rough patches on my skin, like sandpaper or something.”

“When did these symptoms start, Marlon?”

“Last week!”

“Let’s think about this a moment, okay. Are you sure you’re turning into a fish? Could it be that you just feel out of place in your current environment? Where are you working now?”

“I’m a cashier at Stop-N-Go, but I love it there. I don’t ‘feel out of place’ or anything.”

The doctor continued to name possible causes for his delirium; each was brushed off.

Marlon maintained that he was turning into a fish.

“Unfortunately Marlon, that was all of our time today. I’m not going to prescribe anything additional today, but I am referring you to a dermatologist for those rough patches you mentioned.

Marlon had arisen from the chair.

“Doc, I’m not feeling too good. I- I think you need to get outta here.”

He bowled over and clutched the armrest.

“I-I’m going to call medical services, okay Marlon? Hang tight,” the doctor turned and reached for the phone on her desk.

“D-D-Doc”

It came out in a weird growl, barely decipherable.

The doctor turned at this, and saw the metamorphosis.

She watched as his already dark skin greyed and roughened. As the structure of his bones shifted, and his face grew pointed. She watched him physically grow bulkier. As gills cut into his bulky neck. And she watched each and every one of his serrated, razor sharp teeth jut out from his jaw.

A 7ft shark walking on two legs, shuffling towards the doctor, beady black eyes trained on the woman.

“Marlon. Marlon, you have to listen to me. I-I know you’re in there Marlon.”

The man-shark paused.

“It’s going to be okay, Marlon. If you just sit down, and take a deep breath-”

The doctor tried to inch away.

Marlon moved quicker than his body seemed to be able to, and latched onto her hand.

She couldn’t even scream as her hand was wrenched off her body, severed at the wrist.

As the blood poured from her open veins, her knees gave out.

She clutched her missing limb and looked up, just in time to see his face charge towards her.

With a couple of quick shakes, the doctor’s head was detached from her body.

“N-need…,” the shark rasped, “wa…ter.”

The man-shark slammed himself through the window, and faded into the grey evening.

And the doctor’s last thought?

I forgot sharks were fish.